Family Recipes
by EstelRaca
Summary: After a close call at a crime scene, Apollo and Athena both end up ill. Phoenix and Trucy take care of them.


**Author's Note:** I am co-running an Ace Attorney fic exchange! Anyone interested in participating, please join the Ace Attorney Holiday Exchange 2015 challenge on Archive of Our Own. We also have a tumblr (aceattorneyexchange dot tumblr dot com). Please join us or spread the word! Also this fic was written for the prompt of Apollo and Athena being sick and Phoenix taking care of them.

 _Family Recipes_

Apollo wakes up snifflng, and promptly takes three times the daily recommended dose of vitamin C along with about twice the daily allotment of Coldkiller X.

It's his standard practice whenever he starts feeling sickly. He's not sure it's entirely medically safe or recommended, but it hasn't killed him yet. He doesn't know if it's actually the medications or if it's just his belief that they'll work—another reason he doesn't really want to look into them, he doesn't want someone telling him that it _won't_ work—but taking the combination whenever he feels the start of something has kept him healthy for years. He hasn't missed a day of school or work due to illness, ever, and he intends to keep it that way.

(He couldn't bear to miss school—in high school it was his connection to friends, to _Clay_ , to people who cared about him as more than just another foster child. In college he was getting every last bit of value out of his precious tuition money, whether his body wanted it or not. And for work... well, it's _important_ , his job, and the justice system isn't going to slow down just because he's feeling a bit under the weather.)

So he takes his medication, and he dresses for work, and he heads down to meet Athena at the Icy Icthyasaurs Ice Cream Parlor, the site of their latest case.

They have five hours still to try to find any additional evidence that might exonerate their client, and Apollo intends to make good use of every one of them.

XXX

"But Prosecutor Gavin—"

"Told me that no one is supposed to go in or out without his express permission, sir." The patrolman looks vaguely guilty as he repeats his stock phrase, but he doesn't move out of the way of the door.

"Listen, you—you—"

"Overgrown carrot!" Widget fills in, and Athena covers the little robot even as she tries not to think about how closely the patrolman's hair does resemble the color of a carrot. Insulting people is very rarely the way to get them to cooperate, even if it isn't technically her insulting them.

The man is staring at where Athena's hand covers Widget, and Athena resists the urge to make a crack about where her eyes are. From what she can hear in his voice, the guy's legitimately just trying to do his job. He's being an idiot about it and displaying about as much intelligence as an NPC in an RPG, telling her that she needs to go run in circles a few more times before he can let her into the special city, but not everyone was hired for intelligence. "Look, if you could just call Prosecutor Gavin, we can have this whole thing cleared up in about twenty seconds."

The man shakes his head serenely. "Prosecutor Gavin's got another trial this morning. I'm not to call him unless something really important comes up."

"Well, this _is_ really important. Just tell him—"

"Hey, 'Thena."

"Apollo!" Athena turns from the infuriating cop, smiling at her co-counsel as he walks up to them.

"Is there a problem here?" Apollo looks from Athena to the patrolman still standing like a boulder in front of the door.

Athena sighs. "Do you have the note Gavin gave us yesterday? The one giving us permission to investigate?"

"Yeah." Apollo begins digging through his bag, producing the neatly folded piece of paper. "This all we need?"

The patrolman grabs the piece of paper, squints carefully at each neatly written word—his mouth doesn't move, but Athena half expects it to as he sounds out each one—and then nods and steps out of the way. "Go ahead. But be careful—the freezer's set to lock automatically, remember, with no way to open it from the inside."

"We remember." Apollo stares up at the man as though he can't quite believe what he's hearing. "We are very aware of how the victim was killed."

"Good." The man smiles at them as he holds open the door to the ice cream parlor. "Have fun investigating, then."

"Wow." Athena waits until they're out of earshot. "That was something else. Glad you thought to get proof yesterday that we were allowed to be here."

"It's not the first time I've had to finagle my way onto a crime scene." Apollo sniffles slightly as they wend their way through the rainbow colored dining area toward the back, where the walk-in freezer that had held the body stands. "At least Gavin's usually reasonable about giving us access."

"And you're good at playing him." Athena gives Apollo's arm a little poke, trying not to seem like she's standing extra close to him. There's something... eerie about the empty building, about the bright colors and the white tables dotted around with no one seated there. It would be creepy enough without the added benefit of the ghost stories that the employees of the parlor as well as the patrolmen who have been posted inside have been passing around for the last three days. "I think you hurt Prosecutor Gavin's pride when you said he was just scared that if he let us investigate you'd beat him again."

"Hey, that was me being nice." Apollo holds up the section of counter that gives them access to the back, giving Athena time to slide through before lowering it with a _clap_ that makes Athena jump a bit. "I'm pretty sure Klavier doesn't actually care about his record. I was just reminding him, in a _polite_ way, that we're really damn good at getting to the truth, provided people let us."

"True enough." Athena thinks there was more to the conversation than that, but she's still learning to get a read on Prosecutor Klavier Gavin, still trying to figure out what the triggers are for the pain and grief that can unexpectedly spring into his voice. "Ready to go freeze for a bit?"

"Ugh." Apollo grimaces as he studies the freezer door. "I should've brought my jacket."

"You would've been regretting it all the way here. That's the problem with it being summer outside and Arctic weather at our crime scene." Athena claps her partner on the shoulder. "Come on, let's get this over with as quickly as possible."

They prop the door open with a ten-gallon tub of ice cream, then begin searching the crime scene once more. There _has_ to be something here that they missed before. Athena begins running over her thought processes out loud—not because she's nervous, the white outline of the victim's final resting place seeming to hover in the corner of her eye and whispered tales of crashes and unexpected touches at the forefront of her mind, but because it gives her something to think about other than the cold. Yeah. Really. "So, there _has_ to be a motive behind the killing—a motive other than frustration over Jill Lato getting employee of the month every month for the last three years. Because that one's just _silly_."

"So silly that the judge ate it like a hot fudge sundae." Apollo sighs, the sound turning into a brief coughing fit halfway through.

"Hey, you okay?" Athena looks up from her perusal of a stack of vanilla ice cream tubs.

Apollo waves a hand at her, his head shoved into a shelving unit so that he can look behind it. "I'm fine."

"Meaning you're not quite at death's door." Athena sighs, shaking her head. "Anyway, I guess it kind of made sense when the cause of death was just listed as hypothermia. A prank or a bit of vengeance gone out of hand. But since we know now that the victim was bludgeoned prior to death, and pretty much strip-searched before being redressed..."

"That becomes a lot more intense of a crime. And since it doesn't seem like the person found what they were looking for..." Apollo just barely manages to catch a crate filled with chopped walnuts, setting it back on the shelf above his head with a sigh.

"We try to find where it might have been hidden." Athena blows on her hands, stepping away from the ice cream for a bit. What's going to happen to all this ice cream when they're done, anyway? Can you feed people ice cream from a freezer where someone died? Are there some kind of regulations about that? "And what it might have been. Hey, Apollo, does this freezer seem a little... big to you?"

Apollo turns to look at her.

"I mean..." Athena gestures around them. "They've got stacks of ice cream and stuff, which makes it look a little more reasonable, but it just seems like there's a lot more freezer space than a place like this needs, yeah?"

Apollo turns in a slow circle, nodding as he does. "Yeah, I think I see what you're saying. They've organized everything to try to make it a little less obvious, but they've probably got about twice as much freezer space as they—"

A _thoom_ that Athena thinks she can feel in her bones echoes through the small freezer, and the area plunges into darkness.

It's easy enough to echolocate via the expedients of Apollo and Widget cursing, and Athena catches up to Apollo at the door, uses touch to maneuver her left hand slowly up his arm until it locks like a vice onto his shoulder.

The tiny window in the door, which would have provided little enough light, has been covered over with black construction paper. The temperature in the room seems to drop a little bit with every second that ticks past, seems easily twenty degrees colder than when the lights had been on, though Athena knows that's ridiculous.

"Hey!" Apollo's fists beat against the door, the drumbeat almost but not quite as loud as his voice. "This is stupid, you know! Someone's going to notice we haven't come out and come find us in just a few minutes! Just open the door and turn yourself in! We'll see you get a fair trial!"

No sound from out in the store.

No opening of the door.

" _Open—_ " Apollo is forced to pause in his shouting to sneeze violently a half-dozen times, and it seems to take the wind out of his diatribe. When he finally straightens up, he sighs. "Well, _this_ wasn't how I imagined spending our time before the trial."

"Me, neither." Athena shivers. "But you're right, it won't be long before someone comes and finds us. And hey, we know we're on the right track! It definitely wasn't Candy who locked us in here, not unless she's got some kind of crazy telekinesis that can reach all the way here from the detention center."

"Yeah. Believing in our clients wins out again." Apollo's shoulder shudders under her hand, a violent shiver, and she can feel him rubbing his arms vigorously. "I don't suppose your cell phone's working?"

Athena whacks herself in the forehead for not thinking of that first. Pulling her phone out, she sighs in relief as the screen's light provides enough illumination for her to see Apollo. "No bars, though. Drat."

"Me, either. Stupid Faraday cages." Apollo shoves his phone back into his pocket.

"Come again?" Athena holds her phone between them, providing light for them both.

"I don't know. It's something Clay would say when we were in a big building and didn't have any reception. Something about Faraday building cages for wireless signals." Apollo chafes his arms again, pressing a bit closer to Athena.

She doesn't mind. The warmth and the physical proximity to someone else are comforting, especially because Athena can see the edge of the white line that denotes the position of Jill's corpse barely four feet away.

"So." Apollo looks around the room. "Do we keep looking, or...?"

"Keep looking." The lights shudders as a shiver wracks Athena. "It'll keep us moving, keep us warmer. Plus we've still only got, what, four hours to trial time?"

"Sounds good." Apollo points to the right. "Start here and work our way around?"

Athena nods, and they begin a close, thorough inspection of their surroundings, stomping their feet and chafing their arms as they do, waiting for the sounds of someone coming to let them out.

XXX

Prosecutor Gavin doesn't laugh when he releases them from their prison three hours later, not even after the paramedics determine that they're going to be just fine after a little warming up. Athena deeply appreciates that, though she appreciates the hot chocolate he sends Detective Ema Skye to fetch for them even more.

None of which makes it any less satisfying when she and Apollo completely trounce him in court that afternoon, but it _does_ mean she's nice to him when he comes up and congratulates them on another victory.

"An illegal meat smuggling operation." A combination of amusement, bemusement, and fascinated horror fills Gavin's voice as he studies them. "Only the extremely talented Wright Anything Agency would be able to uncover something as..."

"Ridiculous?" Athena sniffles. Her nose has been running ever since they were rescued, which had made court vaguely embarrassing. She's not sure if it's just her body still thawing, or if she's caught whatever cold Apollo had due to two hours spent curled around him, trying to share what little body heat they both had. "Ludicrous? Silly?"

"It would be all of those, if one person were not dead and if the two of you had not been subjected to such hardship." Klavier's smile fades as he shoves his hands into his pockets. "Both of you should take it easy for the next few days, _ja_? Follow the doctor's instructions."

"They weren't a doctor." Apollo coughs, the sound seeming harsher and deeper every time. "It was a physician's assistant, and she said we were going to be fine."

"Technically..." Athena raises her hands in a gesture of surrender as Apollo turns to glare at her. "She said that we shouldn't suffer any long-term effects, but she was worried about that cold of yours. Hence why you have an antibiotic prescription."

Apollo shrugs, the effect somewhat spoiled by the tiny shiver that follows it. "I'm fine."

"You always are, Herr Forehead." Klavier's smile returns. "But do take care of yourself. If you become truly ill, I will have no choice but to dock Herr Daffy's pay for allowing himself to be tricked into leaving you in such a situation. Then I will be yelled at by Ema Skye for being an insensitive rich fop. For my sake, please, be reasonable?"

Apollo snickers, though he has to stop and blow his nose after a moment. "You know, I think you and Ema have too much fun arguing. That's why you're always doing it."

"That may be true for one half of the duo, but it is not true for me. I am wounded every time she says such scathing things." Klavier places a hand to his heart, looking abjectly miserable.

It's an act—an obvious act, from small body language cues, but there are layers of emotion to his voice that make Athena think it wasn't _always_ an act. She is still piecing together the history and relationships between everyone in Team Truth and Justice, has been able to glean only pieces from the case histories that she reads. She is glad that now, at least, Prosecutor Gavin and Detective Skye seem friendly, but a part of her can't help wondering what lies under the old scars.

"Look for sympathy elsewhere. Though do tell Ema thanks for the hot chocolate again when you see her. I know how precious chocolate is to her, but it made—" Apollo has to pause and sneeze. "It made the rest of the afternoon much more bearable."

"I will pass along the message, provided you rest well and stay warm." When Apollo finally nods a reluctant agreement, Klavier gives a jaunty wave and turns away. "Good evening, Fraulein Psychologist, Herr Popsicle. I look forward to the next time we face off."

"Sometimes I hate him." Apollo scrubs a hand across his face. "If he calls me Herr Popsicle after this, when I'm _not_ remembering how good the hot chocolate was..."

There's no real heat in Apollo's voice, though, just as there had been nothing but fond affection in Klavier's as he bade them farewell.

"Come on." Athena picks up the bag that contains their documents. "Let's get something warm to eat while we finish up paperwork, and then go sleep for about a week."

Apollo doesn't fight her for control of the bag, a clear sign that he really is feeling miserable, and Athena decides she's going to do everything she can to get him out the door and back home pronto.

XXX

Athena wakes up the next morning with stiff joints, a scratchy throat, sore eyes, and sinuses that feel like they're about to explode.

"Ugh." Splashing water on her face does nothing to help with the pressure or the soreness, and she stares at herself in the mirror, surprised at how chipper the woman looking back at her appears to be. "If we're going to feel this awful, the least we could do is _look_ miserable too, yeah?"

Her reflection sniffles, and Athena sighs.

Picking up her phone, she considers calling in sick to work. She's never had to do that before, but her contract _does_ include at least five paid sick days...

Instead she finds herself punching in Apollo's number and queuing up a text. _How're you feeling?_

The response comes back quickly. Clearly Apollo's also getting ready for work. _I'm fine._

 _Really? Because if you need to take a day to get feeling better there's still two of us at the office._

 _I'm fine._ Barely any time passes between Athena's text and the response. Does he just have 'I'm fine' as a preprogrammed response? _See you at work._

Which makes it pretty obvious what Athena needs to do.

She sighs as she goes through the rest of her morning routine, sniffling all the while. Some Ibuprofen at least minimizes the pressure-pain throbbing in her sinuses, and a cough drop makes her throat feel not quite so raw.

She hopes, for the first time in a while, that they don't see any clients today, because trying to shout _objection_ right now would just be an exercise in pain.

XXX

Apollo _looks_ miserable.

Given how _she_ feels, despite looking relatively fit, Athena's certain Apollo must feel absolutely terrible. Right hand on her hip, she glares sullen daggers at her colleague where he's sitting on the couch. " _Why_ are you here instead of resting in bed?"

"I'm—" Apollo tries to sniffle and ends up in a coughing fit. "...fine."

"Clearly." Athena rolls her eyes. "Did you fill your antibiotic?"

Another forlorn sniffle, and a sullen response. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm—" A hack and a sniffle, and Athena's certain that the wateriness of Apollo's eyes as he glares up at her is due to sinus pressure rather than any type of tears. "Not sick."

"Apollo..." There are a great many emotions tangled up in Apollo's words—denial, first and foremost. _Fear_ , strangely, an intense, bright fear lying just beneath the denial. Embarrassment, twisted around and through the fear, and something else sliding in little accent notes off that—loneliness? Sorrow? Athena realizes abruptly that Apollo isn't just trying to be difficult, and the sharp retort she'd been considering dies unspoken on her tongue. "Have you taken _anything_?"

"Yeah." Apollo seems to perk up a bit at her tone shift. "These aren't breath mints I'm sucking on, they're cough drops. And I've taken lots of vitamin C, as well as some Coldkiller X—it's great. Makes you feel better really fast."

"Goo- _achoo_." Athena grabs a tissue off Apollo's desk and blows her nose. "Good."

Apollo blinks muzzily up at her. "Need some?"

"Uh..." A brief, barking cough cuts off Athena's words. "You know what? Sure."

Apollo smiles, pulling a bottle of small white pills from his bag. He holds out the bottle, and Athena places her hand under it, ready to catch them.

Another hand reaches out, snatching the bottle away from Apollo, and Athena kills the little mewl of protest she'd been making as she realizes that it's their boss.

"No." Phoenix shakes his head, tossing the bottle into the trash. "Nope, uh uh, not using those. Trust me, FluFighter works better."

"Hey!" Outrage fills Apollo's voice as he pushes himself off the couch, his cheeks flushed a bright red. "Those are mine! You can't—"

"Office rules." Trucy peers out from behind her father, eyes shifting from Apollo to Athena. "No Coldkiller X allowed anywhere near Daddy. It makes him super nervous. The two of you look _awful_."

"Thanks, Trucy." Athena slumps down on the couch next to Apollo, not sure if she's upset at Trucy saying she looks awful or relieved that apparently her appearance is catching up to how she feels.

Apollo's fit of rage has apparently triggered another coughing fit, one that lasts nearly half a minute and leaves him doubled up gasping for breath.

"Hey..." Athena reaches out, tentatively rubbing her hand in circles between his spasming shoulder blades. "Slow, deep breaths. You're fine."

"Damn... straight." Apollo takes the glass of water that Trucy offers him in trembling hands, sipping it between words, his voice hoarse. "'m not sick."

Again that strange, painful tangle of emotions, and Athena keeps her hand on Apollo's back even once he sits up and is breathing more easily again.

Phoenix is frowning at Apollo, too, his hand in his pocket where Athena knows he keeps his magatama. "I don't suppose it occurred to the two of you that you could stay home today? I _did_ give you sick leave in your contracts, you know. And if this is some kind of ploy to get me to increase the number of days offered—"

"I'm not—" Apollo begins coughing again, his hand so tight around the glass of water Athena's worried he's going to break it.

"Though..." Phoenix is studying Apollo still, expression shifting from pensive into something... softer. "Maybe it's best that the two of you came in. You both live alone, right?"

Athena nods; Apollo glares up at Phoenix, expression suspicious. After a few seconds, when it's clear Phoenix won't continue until Apollo answers, Trucy darts forward and pushes Apollo's head up and down in something like a nod.

"And no one should have to be alone when they're sick. Unless they want to be, but it's hard to take care of yourself the way a sick person should be taken care of. All right." Phoenix claps his hands together, looking all business as he scans the office. "Trucy, would you mind taking care of any clients in the front? I think the actual office is about to become our own personal Wright Anything Agency sanitarium."

"Sanitariums are for people with _chronic_ illnesses, Daddy." Trucy gives a long-suffering sigh. "Don't you pay _any_ attention when Uncle Edgeworth's explaining things?"

"When we're playing Scrabble, no, because he's usually just showing off. Now..." Phoenix points at Trucy. "Trucy, you're going to handle any clients that we get. Come get me if you need me, all right? Apollo and Athena, you're going to sit right there until I tell you otherwise. Understand?"

"But—"

"No buts, Apollo. I'm the boss, I make the rules, right?" Phoenix's fists settle on his hips, and he stares down at Apollo.

For a moment Athena thinks that Apollo's still going to win the staring contest, despite being smaller and having developed a distinct shiver over the last few minutes. Then he sneezes, grabbing for a tissue with the frantic speed of someone dealing with way more mucus than they were prepared for, and Phoenix grins triumphantly, shifting his expression to Athena.

" _Paz._ I'm not going to argue, boss." Athena sniffles. "If you want to pay me for sitting here and being a lump on a log, which is about all I feel up to being, I'm good."

"A wise decision." Phoenix turns towards one of the closets. "Now, I'm certain I had some blankets around here somewhere..."

XXX

Apollo huddles under his blanket, trying not to look like he's sulking.

A box of tissues sits between him and Athena, who looks much more comfortable under her white-and-black blanket than Apollo feels under his purple one.

 _It's the color of royalty_ , Phoenix had pronounced as he fluffed the blanket out and draped it around Apollo's shoulders. _And right now I'm going to be giving you the royal treatment, whether you want it or not._

He does _not_ want it. He wants to be at his desk, working on some bizarrely complicated case. He wants to be out dodging prosecutors and gathering evidence. He wants to be in court—not that he'd be able to give a decent objection right now, his chords of steel are more like coughs of steel at the moment. Hell, he'd even settle for cleaning the toilet.

Instead he is sitting on a couch, Athena at his side, a steadily-filling trash can in front of them as they go through tissues. Phoenix has pulled the curtains and turned the lights down in the office, creating a kind of twilight gloom that makes it hard for Apollo to keep his eyes open.

Especially given the insipid shows that are currently playing on the television.

"Y'know, it really is fascinating." Athena makes a three-point throw of her tissue into the trash can. "The number of places that claim to have not just lake monsters, but the same _kind_ of lake monsters. Makes you wonder if maybe there's something to it."

"Or maybe people saw that tourism increases if you have the next Nessie." Apollo stares through blurry eyes that don't want to focus today at the screen. "And thus there are lots of Nessies. Like the monsters in Nine-Tails Vale."

Athena sighs. "You really have no sense of romance, do you?"

"I'm a _lawyer_. We're not _supposed_ to be romantic." Apollo sniffs, trying not to sound miserable as he hunkers down more on his half of the couch.

"Or sick, huh?" Athena reaches out to poke one of his blanket-covered knees with a stockinged toe, her boots on the ground somewhere beside the couch.

"Or sick." Apollo supposes it's pointless to argue that he's not sick when he very clearly is right now.

"You don't get sick very often?" Athena's foot retreats back under her blanket.

"I don't _ever_ get sick." Shifting his bracelet around on his wrist, Apollo amends his statement. "Well... I don't get _really_ sick. Not having to miss school or work type sick."

"We're not _technically_ missing work. We are _at_ work."

Apollo doesn't deign to respond to that. Especially since he's not sure he could articulate why it is that it's so important to him that he not get sick—so important that he be able to take care of himself. He can't be a _burden_ on anyone, he just _can't_ , and—

"I understand, sort of. I don't get sick very often, either." Athena curls around her knees, her blanket draping her form, protective, cocooning. "And even when I did, I'd never really let myself _be_ sick. I couldn't afford it. Eyes on the prize. The average time from sentencing to execution is seven years, and that left me just barely enough time to get my degree and get back over here. I didn't have _time_ to be sick."

"Yeah." Apollo nods. "Being sick's _expensive_ , you know? College costs a lot of money, and I'm not going to pay and then _skip_."

"And once you've got a job, well, you've also got rent, food, clothing..." Athena shakes her head, giving a laugh that is half-cough. "Being an adult kind of sucks, actually."

"Yeah, like the woman who went from middle school to passing the bar in seven years could really be considered a _kid_ during that time." Apollo studies his fellow partner, finding himself impressed once again by her sheer drive and determination.

"Like the guy who pulled himself through college on his own bootstraps, passed the bar at twenty-one, and immediately nabbed one of the most prestigious junior partnerships out there is anything to sneeze at." Athena's toe has snuck out of her cocoon, is nudging his knee again. "I'd say neither of us has really been very good at the being a kid thing."

"No, we weren't." Apollo pulls his blanket tighter around himself, more shivers running through him. Silly, how he's shivering almost as much today as he did yesterday, when they were in danger of freezing to death.

"But things've ended up in a good place, overall." Athena smiles tentatively at him.

"I guess." Apollo tries to return Athena's smile, but it's hard to summon up the energy to make it a completely truthful statement.

(She has put nightmares to rest, has come through the last year stronger than ever, where _he_ , he has found new nightmares, new loneliness, more shadows of Kristoph Gavin in his heart than he ever would have imagined and a missing light from his guiding stars that casts shadows over even the brightest of his days.)

"Oh, Apollo." Athena's hands have fisted into her blanket, and her eyes are suddenly more teary than before as she stares at him.

"So sad." Widget's voice is mournful, lost—a far too accurate impression of Apollo's own morose feelings right now. "So hurt."

"No, I'm not." Apollo forces his back to straighten, his voice to lighten. Forces his thoughts to move away from Clay and Kristoph and all the misery of the last year—wallowing in his pain won't help, is just giving in to the illness currently pummeling his body. He _is_ happy, overall, with where he is right now. Is happy to have Athena and Trucy and Phoenix Wright, Klavier Gavin and Ema Skye and Miles Edgeworth and Simon Blackquill in his life. Is happy to have done some more good for the world—is happy every time he takes on a case and wins freedom for an innocent. He is _happy_ , damn it, because Clay wouldn't want anything less and Apollo won't settle for less and he's not going to let some stupid _cold_ make him sulk. Sulking never helped solve any problems. "I'm fine. Just feeling sorry for myself because I'm sick. Which isn't useful. I should at least feel sorry for _you_ , if I have to feel sorry for someone."

"Feel sorry for me and I'll throw a pillow at you."

"Same back at you." Apollo resists the urge to stick his tongue out, instead smiling at the younger woman. "Though I suppose a pillow-fight would probably be a little childish."

"Oh, we're going to have a pillow-fight?" Phoenix grins as he walks into the office, a tray with two cups of tea balanced on it and a stand for it in hand. "Let me tell Trucy, she'll be ecstatic."

"Tea!" Athena jumps up, then slumps back down, coughing.

"Tea that will be there shortly, so don't get over-excited." Phoenix settles the tray down on a free bit of space in front of the couch, over the trash can, between them and the television. "Here—it should make your throat feel better."

Apollo takes the proffered mug, sniffing at it in suspicion. He can't smell anything through his plugged nose and sinuses, though. Phoenix could've filled the cup with nothing but cyanide and he'd be stuck going, "Almond smell? What almond smell?" at the pearly gates.

Taking a tentative sip, he grimaces as warm liquid fills his mouth, waiting for the pain of contact with his swollen, raw throat.

Pain that never comes, the tea rolling in a soothing warm wave all the way down to his belly, and he draws a startled breath as he glances up at Phoenix Wright curiously.

"Not too bad, huh?" Phoenix has perched himself on the arm of the couch next to Apollo, is smiling as he studies Apollo and Athena in turn.

"Oh, man, this is _wonderful_." Athena gives a rapturous moan as she sinks back into the couch cushions, the cup of tea held close to her chest, steam wafting up into her face. "What's _in_ this? I can feel my sinuses opening up as we speak."

Apollo takes a tentative sniff, but his are still firmly clogged.

"That's probably the chili. Just a hint—a dash to get the fires of your immune system up, my grandma used to say." Phoenix rubs at his neck, grinning a bit wider. "Well, not quite in those words. 'Drink this, Nicky-boy. It'll make you feel better and burn those gods-blighted little buggers into the next life.' Her giving me the recipe was one of the greatest moments of my life."

Athena giggles, still cradling her cup under her nose. "I definitely wouldn't have thought to put chili in tea, let alone give it sick people. That's not what's making my throat feel better though, is it?"

"Nah, that's probably the lemon or the chamomile. I'll get you guys the recipe, if you want." Phoenix leans a little bit closer to Apollo. Then he reaches out, right hand moving slowly, giving Apollo a chance to move if he wants.

Apollo stands his ground—well, sits defensively on his piece of couch, refusing to lean away.

Phoenix's hand lands against his forehead, the back of Phoenix's fingers feeling delightfully cool. "Thought you were looking a little too flushed there. You're running a fever, Apollo."

"Oh." Apollo takes another sip of his tea, and maybe Athena's right and it _is_ helping to clear his sinuses. Or maybe his body is just increasing mucus production in some suicidal drive to leave him dehydrated and helpless. Right now he'd say it's a toss-up. "I'll take some asprin, if you have any."

"Yes you will." Phoenix stands, moving to and rifling through his desk. He plops two pills onto Apollo's outstretched hand before holding his hand out in turn. "You'll also give me the prescription Trucy says you haven't filled yet. I'm going to go fill it for you."

"But—" Apollo can think of no reasonable argument against Phoenix doing this for him, and he sputters for a moment before latching on to a different objection. "Trucy wasn't even _there_ , how'd she find out?"

"Sources. Telephones." Phoenix's grin becomes a more gentle smile. "There're people worried about you who want to make sure you're taking care of yourself. And since everyone knows that asking _you_ if you're all right will just result in an 'I'm fine', they're going around you."

"All right, fine." Apollo digs through his bag with one hand, finding and surrendering the little prescription.

"I was also thinking..." Phoenix pauses in the office doorway. "You both have a change of clothes here, right?"

Apollo and Athena share a look before they both give tentative nods. It had been one of the first things Phoenix recommended when they joined—have extra clothes on hand, because you never know what you'll have to dig through in order to find the truth. It's come in handy a time or two.

"Well then..." Now Phoenix looks sheepish, hand once more rubbing at the back of his neck. "Do you want to spend the evening with Trucy and I, at our place? I can cook for you that way, and take care of anything else that needs taking care of."

" _No_." Apollo answers immediately and forcefully, expecting that Athena will back him up.

Instead his hoarse voice hangs in the air, and he turns to look at Athena.

Athena shrugs. "I... wouldn't mind having someone take care of the cooking."

Cooking _does_ sound like way more work than Apollo currently feels up to. But he _can't_ impose on his boss like this, he _can't_ , and—

"Polly." Trucy's hand closes around his, and Apollo turns to see the young woman frowning down at him fiercely.

When did she manage to slide by Phoenix and into the room?

Trucy's lip trembles slightly. "Do you not want to spend the evening with us?"

"It's just... I mean, do you guys even have the _room_?" Apollo raises half-frantic eyes to look at Phoenix.

Who is really the last person he should be looking to for assistance, since this whole thing was Phoenix's idea in the first place. Phoenix shrugs. "You can take the guest bedroom that Maya usually uses, Apollo. Athena can have Trucy's room—Trucy volunteered, I didn't ask her to give it up."

"When I'm sick or Pearls is sick or Mystic Maya's sick, Daddy takes really good care of us." Trucy flashes her father a grateful smile, then turns back to Apollo with that same fierce frown. "It's just _sad_ to be sick and alone."

(It's sad to be _alone_ , period. It's _terrifying_ to be alone, to have no one to depend on, no one to call when you need them. For the longest time Clay was Apollo's only safety net, only recourse if he couldn't take care of himself, and now Clay is _gone—_ )

But there are hands holding both of his, Trucy's tight around his left hand, Athena's having slipped the tea cup out of Apollo's right and claimed it fiercely. Athena's fingers tighten around his, once, a clear gesture of comfort. She smiles when he raises his eyes to meet hers. "Come on, 'Pollo. Let's have a sleep-over with Trucy."

 _You're less alone than you've ever been right now, idiot._ Clay's voice sounds in his head—still sharp in his memory, crisp and clear, and Apollo thinks if it ever fades he will have to take Mystic Maya up on her offer to channel him. He doesn't need that yet, though, is still holding Clay close to him in his own way, and Clay would think he's being foolish. _Let them help, all right?_

"Fine." Apollo sighs as he shakes his head. "If you want us to come over, Trucy, we will."

"Yes!" Trucy throws her hands up in the air, wrenching Apollo's shoulder before he manages to disentangle his fingers from hers. "Does this mean we're having stoup for dinner, Daddy?"

"We've got sick people to take care of." Phoenix ruffles Trucy's hair. "Of course it does."

Stoop? As in the part of the house that people stood on when walking in or out?

Apollo turns an accusing glare on Athena.

Athena just shrugs, once more cradling her teacup and inhaling the aroma of the strange but very effective tea. "I'm sure it'll taste better than it sounds."

XXX

 _Stoup_ turns out to be Trucy's made-up word for a concoction that is halfway between soup and stew. Everything in it has been boiled almost beyond recognition, making for easy chewing and swallowing, and it tastes surprisingly good.

"I got a little creative the first time Trucy got really sick." Phoenix watches his daughter with obvious affection.

"He got a little bit panicked." Trucy chirps her correction with a smile. "He called Uncle Edgeworth in Europe, even though it was four in the morning there—"

"Two fifty-eight, to be exact." Phoenix winces at the memory.

"And asked him what to do." Trucy laughs, scooping a spoonful of dinner into her mouth and swallowing before she continues. "Uncle Edgeworth said that it was very important for me to stay hydrated, and that Daddy should make me something like soup—something warm and easy to swallow. I didn't want the canned chicken soup, though."

"So I got creative." Phoenix points his spoon at his daughter. "Objection over-ruled. Creativity was more important than panic in the creation of the first stoup."

"I guess." Trucy admits defeat grudgingly. "Daddy can do all sorts of different flavors now, though, depending on what's in the fridge and the freezer at the time."

"Creativity. And spices." Phoenix scoops up a spoonful himself. "A life-saving combination when you have a small paycheck and a swiftly growing child."

"It does taste really good. I'm impressed, boss." Athena savors another spoonful, glancing furtively at Apollo across the table.

Apollo's eyes are half-lidded. He's breathing easier and his fever's down since Phoenix brought him back his antibiotic, but it's clear he's exhausted.

"Everyone done?" Phoenix's eyes have also landed on Apollo. When no one requests an additional helping, Phoenix places both palms flat on the table and hauls himself upright. "All right, then. Time to get sleeping arrangements down. Trucy, why don't you take Apollo and find some clothes that'll work for pajamas, all right? Then I want you to take a nice hot shower or bath, Apollo—nope, no protests, it'll help keep your airways clear. I've also got a vaporizer that I'm going to steal from Trucy's room for you, and a rub for your chest."

"I'm not a kid." Apollo scrubs at his face as he stumbles to his feet, Trucy pulling on one hand. "I can take care of myself."

"I'm sure you can." Phoenix inclines his head. "The important thing right now is that you don't _have_ to. Or do you _want_ Trucy to start pouting at you again?"

"I was not pouting!" Trucy glares indignantly at her father before tugging once more on Apollo's hand. "Come on, Polly. I'll make sure you're properly taken care of."

Athena stretches and pushes her way to her feet, trying not to sniffle too obviously. Between the tea and the stoup and the rest, she can _almost_ breathe through her nose again. The downside is that half the time her nose is attempting to run like a faucet, and she's almost out of tissues in her pocket. Picking up her dish, she reaches for Trucy's—

And runs smack into her boss, who takes both dishes from her hand and sets them down on the table. "Come on, Athena. I can show you where you'll be sleeping while we get the vaporizer."

"But—"

Phoenix is already walking away, and Athena hastens to catch up with him, casting a look over her shoulder at the table as she does.

Trucy's room isn't quite like Athena had pictured it. She's not sure what she was expecting, but it wasn't for each wall to be painted a different color—one blue, one magenta, one a rich purple, one a bright fire red. Pictures cover the walls—Athena recognizes Troupe Gramarye in one, and there are many of Trucy and Phoenix; a handful of Trucy, Phoenix and Chief Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth; a handful of Trucy, Phoenix and Mystic Maya; one of Trucy and Athena from Europe; one of Trucy, Athena, and Apollo from shortly after the Nine-Tails Vale incident; and one of Trucy, Apollo and Klavier Gavin. There is also a poster of Prosecutor Gavin's band, and Athena finds herself studying the smile on the poster and the smile in one of the more recent pictures with Trucy and Apollo, trying to figure out why they seem different.

"It's been a busy year for the three of you, huh?" Phoenix is studying the picture with her—studying all of the pictures, the same fond smile he wears whenever he's discussing Trucy on his face.

"Yeah." Athena gives a half-breathless laugh, trying not to let it devolve into a cough. "You could say that."

Phoenix's expression sobers. "You've done amazingly well, you know. Better than I ever could have hoped or predicted."

Athena finds both her hands running over her ponytail, pride flashing through her veins at the unexpected praise. "We just did what was right."

"Which is sometimes the hardest thing to do. But you do it—you, Apollo, Trucy. The friends that you've collected. You all do the right thing, even when it hurts, and _that_ , Athena, is the _best_ thing I have ever seen."

Athena's hands freeze, and she spends a moment just breathing, trying to suss out all the emotions that are tangled into Phoenix's voice. Pride, first and foremost. He is so _proud_ of them, of what they have become. Grief, that they have been hurt so badly. _Fury_ , banked and smoldering—that they've been hurt? Because he couldn't protect them? Because the world sometimes _deserves_ a bit of fury, _demands_ anger or sorrow and anger is safer, sometimes, than the depths of despair?

"Sorry." Phoenix's fingers ghost against her shoulder, and his tone now is simple, easy to read. There are no complicated symphonies of emotion twining through the regret—no depths to the regret. "The bed's got new sheets on it; you saw the bathroom down the hall. You're welcome to use it when Apollo's done."

"I... thanks." Athena finds her shoulders hunching up, her head ducking down in embarrassment. Silly, when she has done nothing to be embarrassed about. She could _hear_ the sincerity in Phoenix and Trucy's voices as they asked for her and Apollo to stay with them, hear the joy bubbling in ecstatic glistening arpeggios in Trucy's tone as she contemplated having people over for the evening. "For everything."

"Don't mention it. Anything I can do for the two of you, I will. Just let me know if I can help." Simple truth, mostly, and Athena can't find any threads to follow down into the deeper emotion beneath it, so she accepts the words at face value.

"Apollo..." Athena draws a deep breath, trying to think of how to word this so that Apollo won't be upset if he finds out about it. "He... he's not good at asking for help. I think... he's not used to it being okay to ask for help. Not used to help being _available_."

"Yeah, that's about what I had guessed, too." Phoenix nods, bending down to pull open a drawer on one of Trucy's dressers and removing a little vaporizer. "It's... probably going to take him a while to get used to it. Even longer to trust that help, given... everything. But we just keep offering it, and make sure that it's _good_ help when he accepts it, and maybe someday... maybe he'll be more all right with asking for it."

"He will." Athena settles down on the edge of Trucy's bed, testing the mattress springs with a little bounce. "Apollo's tough, and he's full of thorns right now, but I think... I think he likes it. The idea of having family. Of having people to trust and depend on. That's why I hurt him so badly, when..."

She will have to be able to say it without flinching, someday. She will have to accept her own culpability in how twisted and bitter the Phantom case became. But right now her head is starting to fill up again, and her throat is starting to ache, and—

The hug is unexpected, so swift she doesn't have a chance to react; the ruffling of her hair equally unexpected, and she pulls back with an indignant squawk, trying to ensure none of it's sticking up.

"Sorry." Phoenix smiles. "Just... there's enough pain to go around in all our pasts, Athena. Enough guilt, too—things we didn't notice, things we did too soon, things we didn't do soon enough. You and Apollo have both suffered more than enough. And I know it won't be of much help, me telling you this, but it's all right to let go a little bit now. It's all right for you, too, to reach out and rely on others. The truth isn't just resting on your shoulders, and the more of us who share the burden, the less likely any of us are to stumble and fall."

Emotion trips and dips and tangles through every word, and if she could tell him to slow down, ask him to repeat himself, she could listen for hours to that simple speech, dissecting every little nuance in it. Slowing him down would change the emotional tones, though, and even with Widget she could only catch a fraction of what he's saying, so Athena instead lets it wash over her, picking out the highlights.

(Phoenix Wright's voice was the reason she first noticed him—something different, something intense and entrancing, a core of empathy and compassion and determination wrapped round with barbed wire pain and grief and fury, and though it is _better_ , every day that passes, less intense and contradictory, that core remains unchanged.)

"Thanks, boss." Athena flops back on the bed, a little toy fox of Trucy's hugged tight to her chest.

"Any time. Though I think maybe we should go for less fraught conversations for a few minutes." Phoenix raises both eyebrows. "How do pancakes sound for breakfast?"

Athena stares up at him. "Lots of syrup?"

"Lots of syrup."

"Real maple syrup?" Now Athena quirks an eyebrow. "No use being here instead of in Europe if we don't get real-deal maple syrup."

"The maple is as real as my paycheck allows." Phoenix grins before turning to the door. "Come grab Trucy or me if you need anything, all right?"

"Will do, boss." Athena closes her eyes, petting the little fox. "Will definitely do."

XXX

He can _breathe_.

Normally this wouldn't be cause for celebration, but Apollo's pretty certain the ability is going to disappear again in the next few minutes, so he revels in it, drawing deep lungfuls. Amazing how much a little steam—lightly seasoned with a combination of salts, because Phoenix's grandmother was apparently an insane genius—can improve the world.

(He wishes, in the way of an old ache, that _he_ had the privilege of learning how to take care of himself and others from a grandmother, crazy or sane. Wishes that he had a mother or father who would notice when he's sick, and tell him what to do to make it better, rather than fumbling along on what he learned by osmosis from pop culture. There is no sense in wishes like that, though, and Apollo does with them what he has done since he was six—shoves them away, files them back in the pointless observation box, and continues on.)

"Hey, Apollo." Phoenix is sitting on the edge of the guest bed, though he stands when Apollo comes into the room, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You look a little better."

"I feel a little better." Apollo stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, before his eyes alight on the vaporizer sitting by the bed. "Ah, thanks for that."

"No problem." Phoenix sighs, sidling around Apollo towards the door. "Chest cream's on the end table. Anything else you might need?"

"No." Apollo shakes his head. "This has been more than enough. More than you needed to do."

"But not more than we _wanted_ to do." There's firm certainty in Phoenix's voice, and Apollo's bracelet almost seems to _loosen_ on his wrist, though that's a silly idea. "If we can help, Apollo, with anything... just let us know, all right? Even if we're not blood relatives, I like to think that we're family, of a sort."

"Team Truth and Justice?" Apollo uses Athena's nickname for their loose association of defense attorneys, prosecutors, and detectives who are trustworthy, and there's not quite as much irony in it as he initially intended.

"Has an awful lot of orphans and grieving people on it. An awful lot of people who've been hurt in a variety of ways. And really, if we don't stick together and help each other..." Phoenix shrugs. "The world's depending on us. On _all_ of us, not just one of us. Which I'd say's a pretty good sign that we can depend on each other, too."

"I... we..." He's tired, to be letting his tongue stumble like this. To be trying to find a way to say what he wants to say—to _want_ to say anything about this, he's _exhausted_. "I do trust you. Mostly. I just... I've always taken care of myself. By necessity _and_ by choice."

"And you do a really good job of it." Phoenix nods. "But if you ever need or want someone to help take care of you for a little bit... well. You know where to ask."

"I do." Apollo allows himself to collapse on the bed. "Thanks, Mr. Wright."

"You're welcome, Apollo."

Phoenix turns the light off when he leaves, and Apollo lies in the dark, certain that he'll fall asleep immediately.

Except his breathing does become harder, again. And his whole body seems to ache, a deep, uncomfortable feeling that settles into his joints if he stays in one position too long. And his brain seems intent on running the same half-coherent thoughts over and over again until they're unrecognizable.

"Polly?" Trucy's voice is a soft whisper in the darkness. "I heard you tossing around. Having trouble sleeping?"

He considers denying it, trusting to the darkness to keep Trucy from reading his lie. Instead he grunts out an affirmation that sounds rather pitiful.

"I have trouble sleeping too, sometimes, when I've got a cold." The bed creaks as Trucy settles down on the edge. "Here... let's move this closer..." A squeak of protest from the vaporizer, and the steam is suddenly a bit closer, doing a little bit more to keep his airway open. "And... well... do you want me to sing you a lullaby?"

"Huh?"

"Mystic Maya would sing to us, when Pearly and I were sick. And Daddy would sing, too, though he'd do funny songs a lot that would make me giggle rather than making me sleep." Trucy pats Apollo's shoulder gently. "So maybe I could try to sing you to sleep?"

"If you want to try." Apollo sniffs, then coughs, the spasms deep and racking.

"Okay." A small hand rubs at his back. "How about this one? _Hush, little fighter, don't say a word, singer's gonna buy you a parrot bird. And if that parrot bird don't talk, lawyer's gonna buy you a witness' squawk..._ "

Apollo is ninety percent certain those aren't the actual lyrics to the song, and he ends up snorting in laughter a handful of times as Trucy continues, recognizing bits and pieces of Phoenix Wright's early career.

He doesn't stop her, though, finding something comforting and strangely, achingly familiar in Trucy's voice in the darkness.

He drops off to sleep before Trucy's finished the final verse of her second song, and despite his illness he sleeps well, better than he often does, until he wakes to the smell of pancakes cooking in the morning.


End file.
